Into the Dark Side
by envoyage
Summary: Ryou and Yugi are forced to serve and aid the Death Eaters for the sake of Malik, who's being held hostage. And as Malik's anger and desperation grows and threatens to revive his yami, the others can do nothing. Who can save them?
1. Never Meant to be Found

**Yes, its a HP/YGO crossover. Wanted to try one for a while and finally had the time to type somthing up. Err...hope it's not terrible or anything**

**NOTES: This happens after the end of the whole series. So the Millenium Items are in the possesion of no one. I'm trying to make everything true to the original anime as possible.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING**

* * *

After serving its purpose a lone temple fell into ruins. Its majestic pillars, once standing strong and tall were now broken, little more than rubble littering the cold ground. The only thing not damaged was a part of the temple's northern wall, a large rectangular slab of stone, framed by two pillars crumbling with age. It was filled with hieroglyphics, and at its very center was the Eye of Wdjat, staring into the darkness, almost like a guardian to a now-destroyed magnificence. 

This temple held a secret. One that started three thousand years ago, and was only once again discovered millennia after it was first created. But now, it was, once again buried, only a handful knowing of its existence.

The entrance was sealed with boulders, caused by a cave-in not too long ago. Its visitors then were to be its last. But now…

A pebble tumbled, the sound echoing throughout the empty room. Stone scraping on stone soon broke the silence even more. It almost seemed like the hidden temple would be buried even more under the sands of Egypt.

Suddenly, a thin ray of light pierced through a small crevice, the stones' movement had caused a small hole amongst the rubble. A foreign voice, not from an Egyptian's tongue could be heard muttering at the other side.

There was a sharp _crack_. The blocking stones glowed, red hot lines coursing around them.

A shout, followed by an intense explosion that expelled rocks everywhere.

A part of the room became bathed in moonlight. Shadows made it known that there were indeed people coming. They remained still for a moment, probably checking the scene out. And then, slowly, they stepped down unto worn steps, probably four or five of them in all.

One man had gone forward, not even waiting for the others to catch up. He was cloaked, all of them were. But for some reason, this man had a dark aura around him that gave him such an imposing air.

His gaze swept across the cracked carvings on the walls and at the ruins littered around the floor. Then he turned to one of his companions.

"Well? Where is it?" he said sharply.

The man the question was directed at shook involuntarily. He reached into one of his pockets and fumbled with a worn piece of papyrus. He squinted at it because of the dim lighting for a moment then looked up.

"They're suppose to be kept in a large tablet, sir…" he walked forward and extended the piece of paper. The man, obviously their leader, looked at it. The picture was sketchy, its details blurred, worn by time. But the general image was there, a stone tablet similar to the shape and look of a sarcophagus, curious shaped slots carved into it.

Without looking at the others, he said, "Look for it."

They obeyed immediately, scattering. Almost simultaneously, four new sources of light appeared, each of the men bearing one.

Their leader stayed still, his gaze still not leaving the picture in his hands. If what lay here was real, then it would answer all his problems…and more. These golden items, they held such power that it surprised him that he had never learned of its existence before. And to think it was by mere chance that they came upon that underground settlement that led to his discovery of the long-buried secret. Maybe he was finally being graced with the means for the victory has every right to claim.

Though this may be a mere myth, he doubted that the people living at the settlement would've put up such a fight to drive them away if it was so. They actually lost a number of Death Eaters to the group. One would think that they would have no trouble against such pathetic muggles, especially since this particular group had possessed not one of those devices harboring what they called 'technology'.

They were indeed a strange bunch, very unlike the muggles he was used to seeing littering the streets in London, in all of Europe actually. Their clothes were a dull light brown, a closed robe, mere loose garments that held no higher purpose than to cover one's body. A separate length of cloth hung around their shoulders, also forming a hood to cover their faces.

He didn't kill them at once. He was quite curious of this group's history.

It was very easy for him to enter their minds and gain all the information he wanted. He was very surprised by what he found out. A tradition, a secret thousands of years old, a family bound to serve an unnamed pharaoh, and lastly, the Millennium Items.

But the men's knowledge was limited, they being mere servants to the family given the task of preserving the memories of the pharaoh. Even the archive at the underground home was unhelpful to what he truly wanted to know. It did, however, provide him the location of the temple they were at now.

"Sir!" a shout rang out. "We found something."

He felt an almost hungry sort of anticipation boil inside him. Were the items really here?

The four men were all gathered at the end of the temple, he could see one of them peering at a very large hole in the ground. He raised a thin eyebrow skeptically.

One of his men, seeing his expression, scrambled forward, holding a medium-sized slab of stone, it seemed to be once a part of an elaborately carved statue, its face to be more exact. His eyes widened slightly as he realized that it was similar to that of the image in the piece of paper he was holding.

He looked around at their feet; the pieces of stone were all engraved with designs, parts of it. Had the tablet been destroyed? He looked at the dark pit before them. Maybe the items were there, only hidden.

Without a word, he took out a thin wooden rod, and without looking at his men said, "Take out your wands, and follow me."

He jumped into the darkness. The air whipped his cloak viciously as he fell. The dark was absolute, no one could tell where the bottom was or even if there was one. For all he knew, they could be plunging into eternal darkness, or were about to be flattened with the impact of hitting the ground that could meet their bodies at the next second.

Nevertheless, this did not bother him one bit. He waved his wand silently, and almost at once, his descent slowed down. He looked up, the others were behind him, slowly floating, having done the same.

He lit the end of his wand, the others followed his lead.

They found themselves in a large room, the walls filled with hieroglyphics just the same as the temple above. Everything seemed broken, crumbling; some sections of the wall were on the ground in pieces. It was as if someone had deliberately destroyed the place.

Finally, his feet touched the stone floor. He walked forward, and scoured the ground. There they were, more of the tablet's broken pieces.

His eyes wandered over to the walls and noticed something reflect the light coming from his wand.

A delicate ring was held by a slot in the wall, enclosed in the circle was a triangle wherein the image of an eye was at its center, five thin triangular points dangled below it. He stretched out his arm, and almost hesitantly took the ring from its place. When he had it in his hands he stopped, expecting for some kind of trap or enchantment to be activated. Strange enough, there was none.

He looked at the item in his hands. If this was here, the others would be somewhere here too.

"Look for the others."

His Death Eaters, hearing the command, once more split up they scoured the walls for any of the other artifacts.

And one by one, they found them

A scale, a necklace, a rod, an eye, and a key.

He could hardly contain the sheer _happiness_ he was feeling as he looked at he Millennium Items like the most precious treasures in the world, which they probably were.

He had them, the key to defeating all those who opposed him. He smiled to himself, now that these items were in his possession, he would only need the knowledge as to how to use their power at its fullest.

He let his servants carry the items as he levitated himself up towards the hole. One by one, the others followed and slowly, the room was once again shrouded in darkness.

As they walked out of the hidden temple, he couldn't help but let out a cold laugh. Everything was going according to his favor. The Items were all in his possession, and acquiring them had been as easy as shopping for school supplies at Diagon Alley. Now, the next step was to find the head of those tomb keepers, since he had gathered from those he had performed Legilemency on, it was he that would bear most of the knowledge of these items.

Even this would be easy. He already had a name.

Yes, whoever this Malik Ishtar was, he would be receiving a very unexpected visit, courtesy of Lord Voldemort himself.

* * *

As the Death Eaters and their Leader had climbed out of the pit, they had failed to notice a metallic surface shimmering softly as they went away. 

No one noticed, partly covered by the remains from the wall where it was supposed to be held, a golden pyramid, the most important of the Millennium Items.

* * *

**  
Sorry if none of the characters made an appearance here, but I needed some sort of prologue first you know. Malik and probably Ryou Bakura will make their first appearance at the next chapter.**  



	2. Captured

Second chapter!

Malik makes his first appearance here, Ryou and Yugi will probably come later since the chapter would be too long if I crammed them all into one.

----------------------------

After three thousand years of being bound to make sure the lost pharaoh recovers his past, the last descendents of the Ishtar clan could finally live a normal life. With nothing to hide and protect any longer, they decided to leave their underground home in the care of the lesser tomb keepers, whom willingly obliged.

Indeed, the Ishtars were finally given the life they had secretly desired and for generations, have been denied.

But those were all in the past. With the pharaoh's spirit passing into the afterlife, their duty has been fulfilled, their job was done. No longer were they forced to live in isolation from the world, no longer were they burdened with the clan's curse.

Now, they had a home above ground, and as the moon's gentle rays illuminated the now almost silent streets of Egypt, a lone boy sat by his window, sparkling purple orbs gazing down, waiting for his sister and brother to return.

It seemed impossible that this boy, relaxing himself under the night's cold air, once held the world at its throat, once displayed the cunningness of an evil mastermind, and the slyness of an expert thief, and once lost himself in the very pits of darkness itself.

His shoulder-length dull-gold hair was in slight disarray as the night breeze blew upon his face. His slender frame was clothed in a t-shirt and a pair of loose cotton pants. A slight frown was set on his face as he wondered what was taking his siblings so long.

Such was the image of a bored and slightly impatient Malik Ishtar.

He looked at the wall clock at the other end of his room. Only several more minutes before midnight. He went back to gazing out the window.

Malik wasn't really worried. Isis, his older sister, along with Rishid, their adopted brother, were making their usual visit to their old home. They had asked if he wanted to come of course, but as he did numerous times before, he declined. Their underground village would no doubt trigger the worst memories of his life.

Though it was true that their task was over, the other tomb keepers had insisted that they be allowed to stay underground. He himself didn't know how they could actually _like _living in that hole.

Isis didn't see any harm and allowed them to stay there; they do not have a home above round anyways.

So, every week or so, she, accompanied by Rishid, would make their way to the secret lair as a sort of 'check-up' just incase they would change their mind, or—heaven forbid—something was wrong.

With the Millennium Items gone, the secrets held by every tomb keeper seemed unlikely to be of any threat if ever discovered, but then, it might be better if this particular series of information would remain within the circle. Just incase the unexpected happens.

The boy got up, and in an almost lazy fashion, walked across his room, flicked the light switch off and opened the door, getting out.

The home they had purchased was quite spacious, more than enough for three people. Isis had taken care of the interior design, settling with an Egyptian theme. The pots, jars, paintings, almost everything in the house would hold quite an amount if one decides to find its worth in the market. Everything was authentic. What more could be expected from a museum curator?

Malik's short walk eventually led him to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a can of soda, chugging half of it down his throat in one go. He paused for a moment, contemplating if he'd try to prepare himself something to eat. He wasn't a cook or anything, so he settled with fixing himself a sandwich, which he planned on eating in his room later.

He rummaged through the contents of the refrigerator and came upon a tupperware of already-chopped boiled eggs. He decided to have an egg salad sandwich. Grabbing a jar of mayonnaise, he dumped a large slob of it in a large bowl on the kitchen counter and mixed it with the chopped boiled eggs. As he mixed them together with a large spoon in silence, he heard footsteps down the hall.

Isis and Rishid must be back, he thought. He put a large glob of the mixture on a slice of bread and hurried to greet his siblings.

He looked around the hall and found it deserted, thinking they probably went to the second floor to freshen themselves up, he chomped a bite down his sandwich and proceeded to scale the stairs upwards.

Suddenly, a cold uncomfortable feeling washed over him. He stiffened, stopping in his tracks. Only then did he notice how abnormally quiet the house was. And now that he thought about it, how come Isis didn't call his name when she entered the house? It had become her habit, to announce her arrival whenever she came home.

And how come he only heard one set of footsteps before? Isis and Rishid always came back home together.

A shadow at the edge of his vision snapped him out of his thoughts, it came from his room. Maybe they came up to check on him, thinking he had already gone to sleep.

"Sister? Rishid?" he called out, pausing afterwards and waiting for an answer. He frowned slightly when he received none.

He walked towards his room, his bare feet padding softly. Almost cautiously, he sneaked his head in to have a peek. To his confusion, he saw no one. He switched on the lights to have a better look.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary or out of place. Maybe the shadow he had seen was a simple trick of the light?

Slightly shaken of the strange events, Malik decided to go back down…maybe grab a knife from the kitchen to ease the thought of his vulnerability if someone was with him in the house, watching his every move. The sandwich he held on his hand was long forgotten, his appetite gone quite some time ago.

He stashed the sandwich in the refrigerator and grabbed a long knife from its holder. He then sat down the kitchen table, completely silent, his ears trying to pick up any sound within the household.

As the minutes passed and nothing seemed to happen, Malik began to wonder if he was just being paranoid and overreacting just a tiny bit.

_CRASH_

The sound confirmed his suspicions, one hand grasping the handle of the blade, he crouched down swiftly and started crawling towards the doorway. Guessing the crash came from the living room, Malik inched his way across the hall.

"Bloody vase," an irritated whisper was heard, a stranger's voice.

A growl. "You just blew our cover, if the kid grows suspicious before the Lord appears, and runs of, we're dead."

The first man snorted, "It's just a _kid_. We can just tie him up and gag him, and problem solved!"

"Keep your voice down!" the other reprimanded. "Besides, his Lord specifically said that we are not to touch him until he arrives."

By now, Malik was totally spooked. Who were these people? He couldn't deny that he felt scared, maybe if he still had the Millennium Rod he would've felt differently, probably even have the gall to strut in there and make the intruders a worthless mind slave without hesitation at all. However, now, he only had a kitchen knife to defend himself with. Though sharp, it was not exactly the best weapon.

What could he _do_?

"Just shut up, will you? Let's just keep an eye on the boy…"

Malik's breath caught in his throat, can they see him?

"What the—where'd the brat go?" one of the men exclaimed.

He looked around frantically, looking for somewhere, _anywhere_ wherein he could hide. His eyes spotted the front door only a short distance away. Somehow, he felt that he'd be safer out in the streets than in here.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, he prepared himself, deciding to take his chances. With the knife still clutched in his hand, he sprinted towards the door, trying his best to keep the sound of his feet hitting the ground at its minimum.

His efforts however, were in vain.

"There he is—he's running away! Catch him!" came the yell.

He stopped trying to be silent and focused his efforts on reaching his destination as fast as possible. The sound of the men gaining on him driving him further.

"What the hell are we running for?" one suddenly said. Malik heard him halt in his tracks, but kept running despite his confusion. Finally, he managed to grasp the door knob, turning it without wasting any time. He had already thrown the door open and was about to literally leap into the night when he heard one of the stranger shout some kind of foreign-sounding word.

"_Impedimenta!_"

Before he could move, before he could even _think_ about what the hell the men were saying, he felt an unpleasant sensation course through his body. When he tried to move, he found out he couldn't. He blinked in confusion, but found out he couldn't do that too.

He heard the men panting behind him, "Phew! That was too bloody close!"

"Yeah…"

He heard the pair start walking towards him and struggled desperately, the most he managed to do was grit his teeth in frustration.

The footsteps stopped, Malik could feel the men's presence less than a feet away from him. One of the men walked into his line of vision. He stared at the man's attire, it was a black cloak, the hood was up, shadowing the man's face.

Said man leaned forward, causing him to grind his teeth together again, and if Malik knew no better he could've sworn the man was wearing a look of amusement on his face.

"Hey, the kid's actually _fighting _the spell," he remarked.

Spell? What Spell?

The second man joined him, taking a look too. Malik heard, rather than felt a snarl emit from his mouth.

The second man chuckled clearly amused as well.

"So he is," he then seemed to look into his eyes; it was hard to tell when Malik can't see his face. "Heh, better give up boy, if you put even more strain into your body, it could literally snap."

He growled, and to his own surprise, even managed to grind a "Shut up," between his teeth.

The men laughed at this.

"Quite a feisty one isn't he? Not like Potter...whiny little brat…"

Not having any idea of who or what the man was talking about, and not caring either way, Malik forced himself to talk once more.

"Let…me…go…" he said, completely ignoring the slight dull pain forming in his head as he did so.

The men ignored him, instead looking at each other.

"What do we do with him now?" the one to his left asked. "We weren't suppose to let him know we were here until his Lord arrives."

"Well…there's nothing we can really do…I guess we can tie him up, the spell won't last for long since he's fighting it…"

Malik watched helplessly as one of them released the door knob from his iron grip. One of the men then grabbed his legs while the other his shoulders, they then proceeded to carry his form to the living room. Laying his unmoving form on the floor, Malik felt his eyebrows rise when one of them took a _stick _from his pocket and pointed it at him like a weapon.

"Make sure it's tight," said the other one.

A brief nod, and then to Malik's complete astonishment, thin tendrils shot out from the tip of the wooden rod. A second later, he found his arms pressed painfully against his sides, hands tied tightly together at his back he could already feel the binds cutting his skin, his feet at the same state.

"What…the _hell_?" he said, a louder attempt this time.

"Gag him too."

And Malik found a rope between his teeth, tied tightly behind his head. He gave the men a heated glare from where he was lying on the ground.

"Heh…I kinda like this little bugger…" said one almost fondly, "He just doesn't know when to give up."

"Well…we'll just see how much he can take before doing just that when Master arrives."

With the spell ebbing away, Malik found out that he can move his fingers once more. He had to resist a smirk, the fools didn't notice the dagger he had been holding all this time. He could feel it cutting his skin slightly, having been tied together with his arms. He didn't mind though, actually thankful, he could try to cut the bids from there.

As the men talked just above him, he started to work, wishing that the men won't notice his movements.

Before he could make any real progress though, a cold chilling voice spoke. It didn't belong to either of the men with him.

"Well well well…what happened here?"

From his position on the ground, Malik saw the others stiffen. He wondered about this briefly but soon found another dark figure above him. This new arrival however, had his hood down, and Malik couldn't help but let his eyes widen at the paper-white skin the man possessed as well as his slitted red eyes. His thin lips were curled into a sneer and Malik found himself shivering involuntarily when the man spoke.

"So…here we have the leader of the Ishtar clan, head guardians of the pharaoh's lost memories and previous owner of the Millennium Rod."

Malik's eyes widened. How did they know? No one knows about his role as tomb keeper and holder of the Millennium Rod except for his friends in Japan as well as his brother and sister, and he's positive that they would never reveal his secret to anyone. Wouldn't they?

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Malik's starting to doubt his friends. This can't lead to anything good, can it?

Please review!


	3. Legilimens

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**Here's the next chapter, the longest one by far and Ryou (kind of) makes his first appearance.**

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"Didn't I tell you to wait for my arrival?" the man asked, his eyes glinted dangerously as a scowl appeared on his face.

Malik saw the other two men stumble for an explanation.

"Our a-apologies s-sir…b-but….err—you see…" said one.

The other replied at the same time, "We were j-just watching him, m-my Lord…but we—I mean…he was about t-to leave the house a-and we c-couldn't have allowed h-him to do so, S-sir."

A thin, almost inexistent eyebrow arched upwards, clearly not accepting their excuses at all. But then, a smile formed on the man's face, "I would've killed you just for this—"

The men's eyes widened under their hoods.

"—but then again…I'm in a particularly good mood…" his eyes flickered to Malik's form on the floor. "I think I should even _congratulate_ you for restraining our boy here with no problem at all," he laughed.

Malik shivered. The laugh was so devoid of any true joy, empty in a sense, yet so full of bottled-up hatred, anger and…_power_. Yes, this man was certainly powerful, he could tell that much. How the others feared him so much was enough basis to reach such a conclusion.

Suddenly, he found himself being lifted up. The next thing he knew, the man's pale face was mere inches from his own, fiery red eyes pinning him down.

He glared, and even managed to growl, "Who the hell are you?" through the material between his teeth.

The man laughed in front of his face, causing his own to contort in disgust as the older man's cold breath blew upon his skin.

Finally, he stopped. "Forgive me," the man said and grinned, showing his pointed teeth, "I…am Lord Voldemort. Now…with our introductions over, let's get to business shall we?" he threw Malik roughly at the nearby couch, the boy grunting in response.

Voldemort took out his wand and pointed it directly at Malik, who was struggling to sit up. Now realizing that those 'wooden sticks' were some sort of weapon, he began to grind the edge of the knife against the binds behind him even more viciously, ignoring the accidental cuts he did to his arms. For some reason, he strongly felt that he should, by all means necessary; escape before Voldemort could use the rod on him.

The bonds snapped, and though completely surprised with his sudden success, Malik wasted absolutely no time in shrugging the now useless binds from his body. He had stood up, and in a flash, grabbed one of the men and positioned his knife against his neck.

"What the—bloody hell!"

Malik allowed the knife to just nick the surface of the man's skin.

"Stay back or I'll cut your little servant's throat."

Actually surprised by the unpredicted turn of events, Voldemort couldn't help but be impressed by the boy's actions. Really, the boy was taking his Death Eater as a hostage! No one has ever tried such a tactic before. Even the Ministry of Magic, intent on capturing him for decades now had never used his servants against him. He scoffed mentally; the fools were just too righteous for their own good. They were _weak_.

His eyes focused on the boy in front of him. This one however…Voldemort could see potential. Why, he'd even go as far as invite this Ishtar boy into his circle if he continued to impress him with things like this. He loved surprises after all.

The man in Malik's grip finally thought of reaching for his wand, which was in his robe pocket. However, having noticed this, Malik pressed the knife harder, earning himself a choked gasp from his hostage.

"Don't you _dare _move."

The man's eyes widened. He couldn't believe that he was being held hostage by a _kid_, in front of the Dark Lord no less. Not to mention that he felt an unnatural fear towards the boy. He's sure to be the laughingstock among the Death Eaters after this.

Voldemort watched with real interest as Malik held the Death Eater still with one hand, while the other searched the man's pockets. He saw the boy take out a wand.

Malik looked at the innocent piece of wood in his hand. It didn't look at all threatening. It looked normal enough, a thin piece of wood with a carved handle at one end. Could the tendrils it had conjured earlier be a mere trick? He deemed it possible. However, he could not say the same for the time it had stopped him from moving altogether.

"It's called a wand," a voice supplied, causing Malik's head to snap up.

Voldemort smiled. "It's quite similar to your Millennium Rod in some ways…"

Malik's eyes narrowed, "The Millennium Rod is long gone. If that's why you're here, then I'm sorry, but I can't help you…so get the hell away from my home!" he half-shouted furiously.

Voldemort laughed, "Or what?" he said, "You'll kill Jugson?" he laughed again.

Confused, Malik stared at the older man's display of laughter. It then hit him. How could he have thought that this Lord Voldemort person would care an ounce about what happened to his servant? He should've known better, Malik himself could care less about what happened to his Rare Hunters back then when he led Ghouls. But he was so used to being the one threatening and _laughing_ at the dilemmas of others, as he did so many times when Yugi and the pharaoh were his enemies. It felt strange to be at the other end of the line.

But still, even though reformed, he was nothing like Yugi and his friends. He would not hesitate in hurting others when the situation demands it…

Voldemort wiped tears of laughter from his face, his shoulders rising and falling as he regained his breath. The other Death Eater beside him stood frozen at the spot, staring at his master fearfully, occasionally stealing glances at Malik with his companion.

"Well? Kill him if you will!" he said casually, as if waving a trivial matter off. To emphasize his indifference, Voldemort settled himself at the armchair behind him, resting his head on his hand lazily as he observed Malik, wondering what they boy's next move will be.

Malik refrained from biting his lip, he was trapped. Voldemort would feel nothing even if he _did _kill one of his servants. He had absolutely nothing to loose. He contemplated for a moment if he _should _kill the man, then take advantage of their surprise and try to escape afterwards. He gripped the knife tighter.

Voldemort smiled, mocking him, daring him to continue.

Inside Malik's mind, an almost inaudible voice whispered, _do it_, but was ignored.

He never actually killed a person, never directly at least, never by his own hands. He might've used his mind slaves before for such tasks, but he was never the one to actually grab a knife and stab a person to death. His other personality on the other hand was another story, his dark half would kill without another thought. Unfortunately, Malik wasn't like that, and therefore found out that he couldn't kill the man no matter how much he felt like doing so.

Meanwhile, Voldemort observed the boy as he had this inner struggle. He looked at Jugson, and ever so slightly motioned with his hand to move to the side. The Death Eater obeyed, and now, Voldemort had a clear shot of the boy. He raised his wand and shouted, "_Legilimens!_"

Malik only had time to widen his eyes before the spell took effect. Then, suddenly, he felt something start to hammer down his mental barriers, and then, the memories came…

There was his sister, teaching him how to read the hieroglyphics carved into the walls of their underground home…

"_What about these, sister? What do they say?" he had said, pointing at the series of symbols underneath a magnificent carved pair of wings. _

_His sister's blue eyes looked at the wall for a moment and then looked at him. Malik was surprised to see a tinge of pity and sadness in them._

"_Sister?" he said, concerned._

"_I…I'm sorry, Malik…but…Father hasn't taught me these yet…"she lied._

There was his father, explaining to him the tomb keeper's initiation ritual…

_"It is truly an honor, Malik. Not everyone is chosen to bear the pharaoh's memories into their very being."_

_But he didn't care; he did not want to bear someone else's memories. He was afraid._

_"It won't be long now…your birthday's in a few weeks…we'll do it then," his father had said, completely oblivious to the now-shaking form of his son._

_"The ritual? W-We'll be doing it on my birthday?" he choked out._

It was his tenth birthday, two lesser tomb keepers; the Ishtar family's servants were holding his arms, dragging him to the ceremonial chamber…

_"No! I-I'll die! Rishid! Brother, help me! Stop them! PLEASE!"_

_But his brother didn't appear to hear him…Rishid kept his head bowed, not looking into Malik's pleading eyes._

His father was above him, a heated knife in his hand…the ritual was about to start…he was strapped on a stone table; there was nothing he can do…

_"Now…hold still, we don't want to make any mistakes…" his father said, not really looking at the boy, his eyes were blank, and an almost inhuman grin was spreading across his face._

_Malik was shaking beneath him, dry sobs coming from his frail body. He tried once more to reason with his father._

_"F-Father….pl-please…I can't do this! I'm s-scared…"_

_"Don't worry; you'll survive, as did those before you…"_

"_B-but, father—AH!"_

_The knife made the first cut, driving deep between his shoulder blades before gliding outwards, forming the top of one wing. Tears sprang out of is eyes as he asked, _begged_, for his father to stop. _

_The hot blade mercilessly scarred the once flawless skin. Every cut brought more pain and caused more blood to pool into the stone surface. He couldn't take it anymore, he was willing to so anything to _die_, just to make it all stop._

Other half…weaker half…Malik…_a voice came. It soothed him. Malik struggled to find out where it was coming from._

I'm here, my lighter personality…I'm _inside _you.

Who are y-you? _He thought weakly, surprised that even his mental voice seemed hoarse from screaming._

Never mind that, _whoever it was said flatly_, let me help you, Malik, let me _out_.

H-huh?

I can help you, other half of my soul, I can make the pain disappear…you don't have to feel any of this…let me out, _the voice persisted._

_And Malik gratefully did, he felt himself relax, the pain disappearing from his senses until there was none left, except darkness, and a soothing voice, comforting him…_

Voldemort let the boy's memories wash over him as he drank it as if he was deprived of water for weeks. He came to the part of the ritual and was watching the exchange between what seemed like another different entity within the boy and Malik himself. This was definitely something, Voldemort thought, he had never heard of a possession of this kind ever before. The voice acted like a totally different person.

_Other half of my soul_, the words struck him. Did this boy find a way to split his soul into two, similar as to how he did to himself when he made his Horcruxes? But the boy was only ten when this happened! How could he have the power to do so then? The only way Voldemort knew that could split one's soul is by murder, and he doubted the boy participated in such an act at such a young age.

He shook himself, deciding to dwell on it later and focus back into watching the fleeting memories.

He saw Malik visibly relax into the stone tablet, no longer screaming or struggling against is binds. When he looked a the young boy's face, he was quite shocked to see the once wide and innocent looking eyes now narrowed, pupils gone, now holding an even more penetrating stare. What unnerved the Lord more was that, as the father kept on carving the designs unto his back, the boy was _smiling_, as if he e_njoyed_ the pain.

And then, Voldemort felt himself thrown out of the boy's mind with such force that he found himself on the ground, a gash bleeding at his forehead. He rose up, and saw that Malik was unconscious on the ground.

He composed himself. The boy's mind was indeed strange, entirely different than any he has penetrated before. _No one _has ever managed to throw him out like that enough to affect him physically, it was as if there was _something _protecting the boy's mind from within. It couldn't have been Malik himself, Voldemort had sensed the boy loose consciousness the moment he broke down the (quite strong) mental barrier that protected the boy's memories. He was surprised the boy had one to begin with.

He looked at Malik's unconscious form, then he looked at his two Death Eaters, Jugson having freed himself once Voldemort had assaulted Malik's mind.

The two looked fearful at the state of their master, the red of the blood contrasted with his bone-white skin, mimicking a dried-up corpse.

"Bring him…I'll…continue searching his mind at…home…"

A lone white-haired boy walked across the street. His face held a thoughtful expression; lips pressed tightly and a far away look in his eyes as if he was partly somewhere else. And he was, in a way.

Currently, he was on his way to a friend's house, his mind set on something he has been delaying for months now. He'd kept quiet about anything concerning Yami Yugi(or is it Atemu now?), knowing fully well that Yugi would need some time before he'd be fully willing to talk about his other half and their adventures together.

Technically, he wasn't really going to ask anything about the pharaoh, far from it.

You see…he was more curious about the _other _ancient spirit, the one in the Millennium Ring.

He knew the ring was magical; he even managed to harness its power back then when he helped Yugi and his friends escape that cave in Duelist Kingdom. But…he was never aware of the entity inside of it. There _was _that strange nagging feeling that someone was watching him when he was alone sometimes, but he did not worry over it. In truth, he liked it, it comforted him.

He probably had the least knowledge about his other half than that of Yugi or Malik; at least the other two had come face to face with their other selves, whether as friends or enemies was beside the point.

What he only had was the almost intangible feeling of another's presence.

As strange as it may seem, Ryou Bakura was on his way to the game shop, determined to squeeze the whole story of this 'Yami Bakura' out of Yugi. All he gathered from the others was that the spirit of the Millennium Ring was, in layman's terms, the bad guy. However, he's sure there could be more to Yami Bakura than, as Joey said, "A blood-obsessed freak that can't let go of some stupid grudge for a zillion years," he knew asking Joey wasn't the best idea since the blonde had a one-tracked mind when it came to people who threatened his friends, but this piqued his interest even more.

Was this grudge the reason why Yami Bakura did all those things that, even now that he's gone, still had the effect of making his friends mentally cringe in its memory whenever Ryou found someway to weasel the spirit's name in a conversation?

Ryou himself wasn't present during the times when Yami Bakura had brought grief and pain to Yugi and the others or during any of the spirit's escapades at all, so he doesn't really have anything that could help him determine what kind of person his other half was.

Yes, he knew that Yami Bakura could be deemed as a cold-blooded sadistic individual by the simple nature of his acts alone, but that can't be _all_ there is, right? And being his reincarnation, Ryou felt that he had the right to know more about the spirit of the Millennium Ring.

A car honking its horn brought him back to the real world. He looked around and realized that he'd be at the game shop in a short while. Securing his backpack on his shoulders, he calmed his restless thoughts and continued walking, at a faster pace this time. He'd kept all his questions quiet for so long, he's determined to let most, if not all of it be satisfied soon.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**Whew! That's a long one eh? Sorry if Malik's memories part is confusing with all the interchanging italics and normal style font. If you have any suggestions as to how I can do scenes like these better, please tell me!**

**Note: I'm basing everything according to the anime since I only own a couple of the manga. So…Ryou isn't really aware of Bakura's presence at all…..I think. Please correct me if I'm wrong.**

**Next chapter: Ryou talks to Yugi about Yami Bakura, and Isis and Rishi sees the massacre in their old home.**

**Please Review! Makes updating a whole lot easier, and chapters a whole lot longer!**


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